Shadow to Light
by Sirena Wrevnyne
Summary: Omar is a young high school boy with a talent for storytelling and observing the world around him. He aspires to be a pokemon battle announcer. Modest as it is, he is very serious about his goal and practices frequently. However, recently, he has been pla
1. Prologue

The Building of a Legend

The rumors began when the same, strange young woman won all the pokemon tournaments in the same year. The rumors began of a girl who could not lose.

No one could deny that she was hauntingly beautiful. This girl was tall, and slender; ethereal looking. Her hair was dark, and long, reaching past her waist. But through her hair shot three veins of blue, red, and gold, evenly spaced. Her skin was pale, as though it seldom saw the light of day. Her lips were paler still, like shaped crystals of ice, showing just the barest hint of pink. Looking straight at her, the only color in her face was in her eyes. Each one was green as an emerald, green as the forest, green as life itself.

No one really knew anything about her, for she never spoke, not even to give her name. Not even to battle. When she battled, she and her pokemon moved as one, deliberately, and there was no need for shouted commands. No one could even come close to defeating her, and seldom could anyone even scored a direct hit. Her battle style was smooth and calm: both anticipating and reacting to the opponents moves, and making moves of her own. As if in an elegant dance, she and her pokemon controlled the arena.

But her expression was the most puzzling of all. Always when you saw her, she had on her face a most profound air of sorrow and pain, made more bittersweet by a tinge of hope. However, when she won, when she won each battle, she lifted her arm to the eastern sky, and her face changed to include longing, and waiting.

Whenever she took her leave, walking away from the stadium she had conquered, she was swarmed with reporters and fans, clamoring to hear her speak, to know her name. But the girl never said a word; she merely looked at them, with the same sadness in her eyes. And the people looked away; they let her pass, their unanswered questions forgotten in an instant. They let her walk away into the sunset, and disappear until the next tournament.

And, without facts, the rumors began. Many pointed to her strong connection with her pokemon, her ability to merge with them, somehow. "How could she do this?" people asked, and others came up with answers.

Some said she was an android, a puppet controlled by some distant master, who used ultrasonic frequencies to guide his pokemon.

Or was she puppet to her pokemon? An illusion of a trainer created by them, so they could participate in tournaments. Or even a Ditto, assuming the role of someone captured or dead.

Others believed the girl to be a great psychic, communicating telepathically with her pokemon.

Were they right? Were they wrong? No one knew, because that girl's life was shrouded in mystery, cloaked in darkness. No one even knew her name.

And so they called her Shadow.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The Dream

He could see her in profile. She was standing straight and tall, and looking off into the distance. He could see nothing but her shape, and the glint of her green eyes, for she stood in the shadows.

"Shadow! Shadow! Come out of the darkness," he implored her. "Come into the light."

She turned at the sound of his voice, and slowly stretched her arm out towards him, reaching up to the sky. Her eyes were so sad, so hopeful. She was waiting. She was waiting for him! And she was reaching for him!

"Shadow, speak to me! Tell me your name."

She opened her mouth, and said: "Omar, you lazy bones! Get up already!"

As Omar opened his eyes, he sighed. He had almost heard Shadow speak this time! He wanted to know her name. He couldn't announce her properly without knowing her real name. "I'm up mom, I'm up!"

Omar dreamed of becoming the greatest pokemon battle announcer of all time. To be there to witness the ultimate battles of the century, that would be the best! And to comment on them, to have his voice describing these battles…Omar closed his eyes, imagining how wonderful it would be. His words would be those remembered together with the legends among trainers, his ideas associated with greatness. And Shadow was the greatest of the great! She had been the defending champion of nearly every prestigious pokemon tournament held for five years straight! Announcing for Shadow was every rising commentator's ultimate goal.

But, Omar though, as he dressed for the day, it was very strange, that dream that kept coming to him. Very different from his normal dreams. Usually, if it involved Shadow, he had visions of announcing her flawless victories. But this, it seemed deeper, more important somehow, than any of his frivolous daydreams.

But such thoughts were nighttime thoughts. They made sense in darkness, but seemed silly in the face of the sunlight that was streaming through his window. Sighing once more, Omar got up, dressed, and headed downstairs for breakfast.

Breakfast was pancakes, Omar's favorite, and he ate them eagerly, before running out the door with a goodbye to his mother. He opened the garage to reveal a battered old scooter, and closing the door behind him, started on his way. On the way to school thoughts of the dream kept coming back to him. His hand strayed to his belt, where a single pokeball lay. "I don't suppose you could help me with this," he whispered quietly to it.

But his pokeball did not answer him, nor did the creature inside. Perhaps he had been too quiet, or else his pokemon still slept. Omar sighed to himself, and continued on to school, shaking his head to clear away the webbing of the dream that haunted him. As he neared the yard, he heard a commotion. It was still some time before school was to begin, and though Omar usually got there early, most people did not. Turning a corner, he saw two kids, one boy and one girl, facing each other, a large crowd surrounding them. He recognized one of them as his classmate Sereih, and the other as Jacob. Each child reached to a pocket or pouch, to take out a small sphere, colored red above and white below. They brandished these spheres, and the crowd yelled them on.

Omar's face lit up, and he pushed through to the front of the crowd after leaving his scooter haphazardly against a wall of the building. "Ooh! Is it a pokemon battle?" He yelled excitedly to the air. "Let me comment, please!"

The kids all laughed as one. "Oh, it's Omar!" They chanted at him, and he was suddenly given space, made a part of the display instead of just watching it. "Commentator! Speak won't you!" More laughter, then Jacob broke out and yelled: "Watcher of events! Tell us what you see, that we do miss! Give us words of description and action to catch at our hearts!" To which Sereih added: "Chronicler! Record for time's own eyes what now comes to pass! Immortalize our battle with your voice, to be heard ever after in our minds!"

They all laughed again, including Omar. He did not know whether they spoke of him so grandly to tease him, or to urge him on. Probably some of both, really. But in any case, he didn't really care. Omar broke into a broad grin, and his hand plunged into his bag, his hand wrapping around a familiar object, emerging once more with his catch. It was a tape recorder, his most prized possession. Every time he came across a pokemon battle, Omar would comment on it, training his voice for endurance and elocution, and his mind and eyes for sharp observations. Later that day, he would listen to his tapes again, comparing them to professional quality, picking on details of difference in cadence and insight. If people were to one day depend on his words to witness battles they themselves could not see, he must work hard to promise them the best and sharpest comments, striving to improve, always. In his quest for excellence, Omar had even expanded his commentation, spending hours working on how to, precisely and concisely, describe the color of grass, or the feel of wind, the taste of lunch. And so he always had his recorder with him, always spoke to it, more so than to anyone else. A watcher on high, he prided himself on nothing more than to be able to reconstruct a scene completely by speaking about it at length. As such, he did not have many friends, and none of them close. Commenting is a lonely sport, when there is room for only one to speak.

A classmate had once told him that with such observation and language, could he not be a powerful writer? Indeed, his teachers seemed to think so, as they loved whatever papers he wrote, praising them often. Omar had laughed and smiled, but here too, he had something to say. "I am a storyteller, then? Perhaps I could, but the voice is my main instrument, sound my media rather than paper and pen. I speak what happens in the moment as it truly is, all disjointed, and let your minds and my voice pull it into a cohesive whole. But I am not a master of events, rather just a watcher, a recorder. I comment; I do not create. To tone and tweak the mood and the mind just so in a RE-made moment, that is my calling." It was a moment of truest insight on his part.

Which was why that dream about Shadow was so disconcerting, he thought, his mind drawing away from the world ever so slightly. Having a dream revisit him while he slept was all very well and good, but obsessing over it during the waking hours would never do. He was becoming distracted. This morning, spent brooding over Shadow and her calling him, what had he seen? The scene replayed in his mind, but it seemed washed-out, lacking the clarity of detail that usually accompanied a moment he had surveyed, even briefly. He was missing things, and he couldn't afford to do that. If this dream persisted in stealing away his attention, he would have to do something about it soon.

Hearing more yelling, Omar suddenly came back to reality, and mentally slapped himself in the face. No more reveries! See, they were calling for him now, awaiting him to speak. "Storyteller!" The cried out to him. "Weave us a tale!"

Omar smiled to the masses, and twirled his recorder up in the air, offering a slight recompense performance to make up for his earlier silence. "Give me a tale to tell, and I shall see it remembered. Let us begin!" With a flourish, he turned the recorder on. The crowd cheered.

"Hello and good morning, fellow students!" More cheering. "Today we bear witness to a most great-"here Omar paused for effect, "-POKEMON BATTLE! To my left is the lovely championess of the ring, a darling of the school, if I may say so myself, Sereih!" She took a bow, to more acclaim from the crowd. "And to my right, cool and calm despite his opponent's rabid supporters, a trainer with a formidable reputation in his own right, Jacob!" A great shout let up from many on Jacob's side, rivaling the cheers from Sereih's idolizers. "And in this clash of juggernauts, ladies and gentlemen, the tension will be enormous! Who will win amongst these pokemon greats? Only time, and I, will tell. But oh! I think they're starting now!

"Jacob has started off first. As he throws his pokeball and the lights swirl around, they resolve themselves into…a Charmander! Audience, Jacob has sent out Charmander! See that lizard roar! It looks like Charmander's getting all fired up, and what will Sereih use to counter it? She's throwing her pokeball, and it's-it's a Pidgeotto! Majestic bird of the skies, and oh look, it's landing on her shoulder, how cute.

"Jacob starts out by ordering his Charmander to use Ember! It shakes its tail, and the flames grow bright. Little embers, drops of liquid fire, litter the air, hurtling towards Pidgeotto, who adroitly dodges, weaving back and forth through the curtain of flame. Sereih has had to hurl herself to the side to avoid the attack herself, and the same for a few closer members of the crowd. But it's-OH! Pidgeotto has been hit! A burn to the left wing; that's got to hurt. The nimble bird is still in the air, though, and has flown higher, gaining a sky free of spitfires. Now is Sereih's chance to counterattack and-Yes! She has ordered a Gust attack! With sharp wing beats, Pidgeotto sends waves of air hurtling towards its foe. I can feel it from here, and it nearly rips one's clothes off. If that's what I feel, imagine the damage poor Charmander is receiving. The pokemon, after a failed dodge, stands immobililzed, unable to try and get away. Only just it must take the terrible punishment of that wind! Sereih, seizing her chance, calls for a Quick Attack! Pidgeotto makes a steep dive towards the still-reeling Charmander. Oh my-I can actually see the bird pokemon's after-image-this is amazing! Charmander can't avoid that! Direct hit! Charmander is down! Oh but look! I think it's trying to get back up. Come on Charmander, can you do it? Jacob orders a Flamethrower attack, but his pokemon can barely stand. Sereih looks like she's ready to order a finishing move, and-"

"Alright, that's enough!" Everyone started, and turned to see a teacher standing there. Instantly, Sereih and Jacob recalled their pokemon. "It's time for class, so this battle must needs end for now. Come on, you lot." With a bit of moaning, the class grouped up. But not in a line, no. They refused to acquiesce to that, and formed a somewhat elliptical blob, a happier and freer shape. Omar found himself near Sereih and Jacob, who smiled at him both.

"Thank you," Jacob told him. "For your performance. That was inspiring."

Omar laughed and shook his head. "I merely tell what happened, and if it the telling was a good one, it means the story was as well."

Sereih shook her head. "It's more than that, Omar. I don't know how, but you seem to make reality seem more real." She smiled at him and moved on down the hallway towards class.

Her words had a ring of truth in them that made Omar pause for a moment. Then he shook it off and followed the rest of the kids inside. The rest of the day passed without incident. Not only were there no more battle for him to comment on, but very few interesting things happened at all, nothing good to note. Omar went home disappointed that the promising day had led nowhere. He didn't remember his dream.

He could see her in profile. She was standing straight and tall, and looking off into the distance. He could see nothing but her shape, and the glint of her green eyes, for she stood in the shadows.

"Shadow! Shadow! Come out of the darkness," he implored her. "Come into the light."

She turned at the sound of his voice, and slowly stretched her arm out towards him, reaching up to the sky. Her eyes were so sad, so hopeful. She was waiting. She was waiting for him! And she was reaching for him!

"Shadow, speak to me! Tell me your name."

She opened her mouth, and said: nothing. Or at least so it seemed at first. For an eternally long moment she merely continued reaching, but then he heard it, a voice, that did not really seem like a voice. It seemed to come from all around her, rather than localizing from her, and he didn't so much hear it as he felt it in his very being. Perhaps this was the nature of the dream? But the words themselves were real and compelling enough:

Where are you? The voice called out, as from a distance, filled with unspeakable anguish to match Shadow's face. I have been waiting for so long…..Why have you not come? The emotion coursed through him like a wave following the words, raw and powerful. Such despair, and the hope, the tiny spark of hope. But it was fading, that spark, and would die with time if it were unnurtured. Omar felt a powerful desire to reach out and tend to that small spark, and he reached towards Shadow impulsively. But he couldn't reach her. They were too far apart, and she didn't even seem to see his attempt. The waves of pain and misery continued to increase, rocking through his body until he screamed.

He jerked out of bed with a start, panting heavily. A cold sweat had broken out over his skin, slick and slippery. Unable to do more than just breathe for a few minutes, Omar finally broke out of his trance and began thinking about what had happened. If this was the end of the dream, then it was horrible. Every time he saw it he would be inflicted with bittersweet pain, most likely stronger with each experience. He wasn't sure he could endure that. But the pain, it had come from Shadow. If he had felt as much as he had, merely from her overflow, then how much sorrow was contained in the well of Shadow's heart? It must be unbearable. "Gotta find her…" he muttered to himself, brushing hair back out of his blue eyes.


	3. Chapter 2

What to Do

Unable to get back to sleep, Omar lay awake all night, alternatively staring at the long shadows in his room made by moonlight, and shifting for a position that might bring him some measure of rest. But he was somewhat afraid of sleeping again at any rate. If he slept, would he dream again? And if he dreamt, would it be of Shadow? Would he want to? Before he had wished only to figure out the mystery of the dream, and now he was both terrified and fascinated by that wave of powerful emotion that had swept through him, cleansing away all other sensation. But was it dangerous? Might this dream even kill him if he had it too often? Then Omar sat still for a long while, staring into nothing at all.

But apparently he had fallen asleep, because the next thing Omar knew, he was lying on top of his tousled sheets on his stomach, with his head near the foot of it. Sunlight streamed lightly on his face. He had not dreamed. Raking a hand through his hair, he levered himself up into a sitting position, just in time to hear his mother's daily cry for him to wake up. Groaning, he pushed himself off the bed and started getting ready for the day.

He was unable to push the dream from his mind today though; it haunted him relentlessly. Eclipsing all other thoughts, it became even more difficult for Omar to notice anything at all. He was nearly run over by a car on his way to school, because he had automatically started crossing the street without looking. The sound of screeching tires and burning rubber brought him back to reality. Falling over to the side, away from the car, his legs tangled with his scooter as he hit the hard pavement. Bruised only in ego, he scrambled to his feet, face burning in shame as the driver rolled down his window to yell at the stupid boy who hadn't even been paying attention. Dragging his scooter behind him, Omar fled the embarrassment, the yelling, the attention, the pain. Apparently the dream could be dangerous in more than one way.

It was a fresh spring morning, and the air was warm and moist from dewdrops. Its peace belied the rushing, pounding blood in Omar's head and in his heart. What was wrong with him? It did not befit a watcher on high to miss so important a thing as a speeding car which very well could have ended his life! He should remain quietly in the background seeing, rather than letting himself join the action. He took out his tape recorder and turned it on, his back curving around it protectively. "My head pounds and sweat runs cold on my body. But my emotions seem curiously blank for having just had a close brush with death's icy fist. I would discount it and tell myself that it was shock, but I do feel fear. It merely seems so small and insufficient enough to fill my body any more than to make me grudgingly acknowledge it. Yet I can tell by my pulse that my fear is strong. It only appears so small in light of the emotion I have sustained but recently. Those waves of pain and despair I can still remember coursing through me; they drown out the fear that beats in my heart, that just yesterday would render me nearly incapacitated. Has the tolerance of my soul been stretched so much then? Can such menial things as nearly being run over no longer capture my attention for a prolonged amount of time? Or am I only temporarily desensitized? Only time will tell me…"

Click. The tape recorder had finished, no more tape to listen to his words. He had left it running blankly for a while after that, allowing only the sound and pattern of his panting breath to betray insight into his mind. What was he to do with this blank tape? It was of no use. No use. Wasn't it? Omar really should record over it right then and there, with a classic description of the world around him: colors, tastes, touches, sounds and smells. There! A tree, green and vibrant, with new young leaves just opening themselves to the world. Hints of buds that would become beautiful blossoms soon. A slight rustle as they seemed to shrug under the damp weight they carried, shedding themselves of the burden of water. The hint of freshness that promised life to come. Brown bark, hard and rough under his hand, like a more fully-dimensioned set of scores that were the whorls and swirls on the very fingertips that touched them, on a far greater scale. And if you cut it open at the base, would it not have a unique set of rings? Was it so difficult to see the resemblance between tree bark and fingerprints? Distant evolutionary cousins though they might be, Omar could still see the link between them. Many other people could too, he knew. They were the gardeners, the people who loved tending to plants, and raising plant pokemon. Would a Sudowoodo feel the same against his fingers as this tree, he wondered? Ah, but perhaps that wasn't so good an example. Sudowoodo were rock types. He had never touched one before, but suspected it would be hard. Not rough yet still slightly elastic like the bark. Lost in the calm serenity of contemplation, he allowed himself some small peace and calm as the world was blocked out but for this one focus. No speaking into the recorder, no words at all, just undiluted thoughts flowing from the tree to him. He wasn't Omar, he just was, and if anything, he was the tree.

But alas, such sanctuaries are only temporary. A moved hand, a touch lost, connection gone. A cold breeze, like winter's last attempt to hold the world, blew over his face, between his fingertips and the bark. And the world flooded back in. The emotions and memories came back, and Omar was Omar again. He withdrew his hand, and shivered slightly. It wasn't the cold. He had never got so wrapped up in one object before, like he could almost understand every particle of it just by touching, looking, hearing, smelling. Scary. The boy turned away from the tree, mounted his scooter, and rode off towards school.

"Hey, Omar, guess what?" It was lunch time, and he looked up from his food to see a girl standing there. Who was she again? Oh, yes, her name was Ashley. A trainer of some small skill. What was he supposed to guess, with her hovering there and grinning? And with food still in his mouth. He gave an apologetic shrug instead, chewing with exaggerated jaw motions. The girl only giggled at him for a minute, while he struggled in vain to finish the bite and swallow. Then she grabbed his arm and pulled him up, when he was almost done. "C'mon, silly!" She told him, still giggling. "The show can't start without you, storyteller."

"Eh?" He blinked stupidly at her, managing to stumble along awkwardly despite the fact that she was pulling him off balance. "What's all this?"

Ashley stopped abruptly, and turned back to face him. "Sereih said she wouldn't accept my challenge unless I got you to comment on it. So won't you come, please?" Beneath her sunny, friendly smile was a pair of worried and desperate eyes. Omar wondered just how much she wanted this match. But perhaps watching something as exciting as a pokemon battle might improve his introspective mood he had had since this morning. They went outside the cafeteria, and to the mini-park that many students chose to be in during their lunch period. He heard a squelching sound and looked down in dismay at his shoes, covered now in mud. Lovely.

Sereih was there, and she smiled as the two came. "You seemed somewhat disheartened," she told him. "I thought something to distract you from whatever it is might help." She nodded at him. All he could do was smile thankfully. Based on how strong his dreams had become, he probably wouldn't be able to forget, but there was no harm in trying, now was there?

He reached into his bag and pulled out his tape recorder. "Just let me replace this tape, ok? I filled it all up already." Without waiting for confirmation, he fished in his bag, and his hand returned with a small cassette tape in a hard, clear plastic case, its film strip all blank of sound, a clean slate to begin his work on. He opened the player and removed the old tape-he considered for a moment throwing it away, but no, he needed to keep it and learn from it if possible-and replaced it with the new, empty one. The used tape he put in the plastic case that had previously housed another, not bothering to find its actual one within. The cases were all the same. Before he closed the tape inside the recorder, Omar tugged out a pen and wrote in a small hand on a white label it bore. He wrote the day's date, how he organized his tapes. Then with a small sigh of satisfaction, he clicked the recorder closed, and pressed record, holding it to his mouth like a microphone.

"Hello, hello. And a very special entertainment there is today. Welcome to this most thunderous of practices, this gladiator clash of souls and their partners to the breaking point, this pokemon battle!" He paused to catch his breath and for effect. A few kids had followed him to them, and more were coming at the sound of his booming voice. There would be a great audience for this battle. "To my right, the challenger, Ashley!" He extended his right hand straight forward towards the girl, indicating her. Then he dropped it and swung his left out towards the other. "And to my left, her opponent, Sereih! Ladies, seeing as how we don't have an infinite time, let's have this match be one-on-one, and the only time limit is the school bell. Is this agreeable?" The girls both nodded their acceptance. By now quite a few people had collected, and Omar judged that the time was right. "And now, patient audience," he said with a sweeping bow in no particular direction, "after much waiting for technical difficulties, let the match commence!" The crowd wasn't much, but it did its best, and Omar's mind was in the clouds, hearing a crowd thousands strong.

"Ladies, if you would send out your pokemon….ah, Sereih has sent out hers. I can see the light taking form as the sphere opens to reveal our good friend Pidgeotto! I saw this beautiful feathered wonder only yesterday, battling in prime form! I can see it got a good rest since then, and is ready to fight again. How inspiring, the sheer fighting spirit, the devotion, the-Oh and Ashley has thrown her pokeball now too! And what has she sent out to meet the fierce bird? It's small, it's forming now, and it's a Plusle! How cute, and look at it dancing around, with little sparks coming from its hands like pompoms! An electric type is smart against a bird, but will type advantage be enough to take out this flying fiend? We'll soon see. Begin!" He had raised one hand towards the sky as he spoke, and now Omar dropped it sharply and quickly, the universal sign for the match to start.

"And Sereih starts off ordering Pidgeotto to use a Gust attack! The wind, the wind is so strong. I feel it blowing through my hair and if I didn't have everything of mine secure, I'd fear for it blowing away. And if it gets any stronger, I fear I might be blown away myself! And I'm only getting the side winds. How that little electric mouse can hang on to the ground, I don't know, but somehow it has, and it looks just like the bravest little thing you ever saw! Clinging to the ground like that, when at any moment it might lose grip and crash into a tree. Tears are coming out of its eyes like a great waterworks; it's sooo sad! Makes me want to cry too…….Pidgeotto is slacking off it's gale of air that it has hitherto sent ruthlessly at the poor Plusle. It's even flying lower than normal; I wonder why it's letting its guard down so much-oh! It's the tears! Plusle is using Fake Tears on its opponent! This is unbelievable! Even as Pidgeotto hears my words, and the screaming of its trainer's voice, it still can't help itself. The bird is descending, slowly, so slowly. This is the power of Fake Tears! And the electric mouse is ready! It's charging up, crackling with electric power, and yes! This pokemon is getting ready to release a Spark attack! I can see the electric waves surging through its body, and now Plusle leaps at Pidgeotto! If the bird doesn't pull up in the next few seconds, it is done for! Aaaaaannnnnddd……"

Omar paused for breath, watching the two eagerly, his eyes gleaming as he breathed his very being into the recorder. "It's pulled up! Pidgeotto has regained the skies, and Plusle falls short! Only a tiny bit of electricity has bridged the two pokemon, only enough to stun for a moment, and certainly not enough to cause this bird to plummet fast enough to narrow the gap between them. No, Pidgeotto is free of the deception. And I think it's quite angry too at being tricked, almost into losing the match. So is Sereih. She's called for a Quick Attack, and Pidgeotto is climbing high into the air, ready for a steep dive that will define speed itself. And here it comes, like a falcon! But Ashley's prey mouse has found a way to protect itself. She's ordered it to charge up electricity again, and created a barrier around itself. To get to Plusle, the bird pokemon will have to go through that shocking force field first, and I don't know if it's prepared to endure that…and yes! Pidgeotto's been called off by Sereih, and it banks hard to the right to turn and climb again. But now she's called for a Sand Attack! Smart move, that, and the bird dives again! But this time it's not going for the mouse, oh no, not yet, this time it's dove towards the ground a few feet away, flaring just before it crashes into the harsh, unforgiving landscape. Slowing to a halt at the last possible second, it grabs the earth within its talons and hurls it at poor Plusle! But with the ground's conditions as they are, the dirt is too wet to be called sand. It's more like a Mud-Slap! The wave of mud has covered the electric mouse, making it most difficult for it to keep a charge outside its body. Without its greatest advantage, and the advantage of type, can Ashley and Plusle even hope to win? Time will tell, and very soon, for Sereih and Pidgeotto have launched their new offensive! With no protective barrier surrounding it, the bird pokemon swoops down unchallenged, and rakes the mouse with beak! I can see the marks on the pokemon's back where Pidgeotto has passed. And oh how horribly Plusle cries out in pain! The bird comes back once again, one more pass, one more scream from the electric rodent that lies helpless on the ground, without even the energy to run away. This is brutal, brutal I say! Plusle is finished! If Ashley can't do something now to turn this match around, then let her throw it in and save her pokemon some pain! Sereih has ordered another Quick Attack, mercilessly! I can't bear to watch, but I have to….no! Ashley has thrown herself over her pokemon, taking the bird's attack herself! Such selflessness….By her interference with this confrontation she hereby forfeits the match and victory goes to Sereih and Pidgeotto! It is over!"

A cheer went up from the students there, as Ashley cradled her injured pet to her chest with a look of dismay and concern on her face. Sereih stood haughtily with one hand on her hip, the other extended for Pidgeotto who landed on it. "Ladies and gentlemen, this has been a superb battle to watch, and an honor to speak for. Let us all give a great round of applause to the contestants! Without you, trainers, there is no battle." The surrounding people clapped mightily, paying respect to the two souls who had clashed. Omar would have said more but Ashley cried out and hurtled through the crowd, carrying Plusle in her arms. She flew across the campus and burst in through the doors to the school, presumably heading towards the nurse's office. At least she was heading in the right direction for that. They all watched as she went, franticly. Sereih turned away though, back to Omar, and smiled apologetically at him, as if to say: 'Oops, sorry for going overboard.'

Omar turned away to put his tape recorder back in his bag. Now that the euphoria of the battle, the energy rush and concentration needed to follow every little detail as it even began was leaving, and his worries started creeping up on him within the corridors of his mind. What was he going to do? He pondered over it with no end in sight when he heard one of the kids talking. "Wow, that was really high-stakes match! Did you see how professional that Sereih looked? She's just so amazing! And the Omar makes a great announcer. I can't see how he can manage to talk so fast so long without messing up his words or running out of breath. Good stuff, just like in the Pokemon League!"

Just like the Pokemon League… It rang something in his mind, stayed with him for the rest of the school day. Then, as he was riding back home on his scooter, he passed a poster on one of the walls lining the way back. It was a challenge to all trainers, to come beat the best trainers in the Lustre Challenge Tournament, the name given to their area's Pokemon League. It was only a few weeks away, and Shadow had visited it last year! Chances were that she would return to it, and Omar would be there to see her, and then, then he would figure out the origins of those disturbing dreams. He had to. That little spark of hope he had felt was dying out, and if it was Shadow's, why then she was in need, wasn't she? But no one knew how to find her. Then it was decided. He would leave in the morning. School didn't matter since his mother had already said it would be okay to leave on a pokemon journey long ago. This wasn't really much different, he rationalized, and the school year was almost over anyway.

But it was still some time before the Lustre League even began. What would he do until then? He lay that night in his bed for some time, not moving, barely breathing, staring at the ceiling he could barely see. He was afraid to go to sleep. Not only that, but wheels kept turning in his mind that would have him awake even had he wanted to rest. But perhaps there was a solution after all. Omar reached his arm out to the small table that rested by his bed, and served as a nightstand. His groping fingers closed over a small sphere. It could not be seen in this light, but were it more bright inside that room, the sphere would have shown itself to be a pokeball to the casual onlooker, the same one the boy wore on his belt during the day. He pressed the button in the center of it, and the ball expanded to the size it took to release and capture pokemon. He opened it, and his companion popped out, the liquid light from the transformation ruining what matter of night sight he had. As thus, he could not see his pokemon, but he didn't need to, to speak to it. "You get enough sleep during the day," he told it. "I want you to watch over me as I sleep, and if I scream, or seem to be in pain, then I want you to eat my dreams."


	4. Chapter 3

Start of a Journey

No screaming came from anyone that night. It passed peacefully under the watch of a waning gibbous moon, alternatively illuminating the night sky and being obscured by clouds. But the stars did not shine through, and there was never enough moonlight spilling into Omar's room to make his pokemon seen to any curious eyes. As the moon set, and the sun began to rise, light filtered into the room, gently playing on the sleeping boy's face. No other creature was there though. The light revealed nothing.

It was Saturday morning, so Omar was not wakened by the angry voice of his mother for sleeping too long. And so it was that he had the chance to catch up on his sleep. An especially good chance, since tonight's sleep had been devoid of dreams. But he had a mission. And apparently once you start a mission, the value of a little extra sleep goes down considerably. Omar is an impractical boy, it seems, who believes he can do things with enough will that physical needs do not matter. How will he fare with this quest, then? He will stumble on the path if he doesn't keep track of his feet…He set an alarm clock.

RING! RING-ETY-RING! The jangling discordant sound of an old-fashioned alarm clock sounded from the table by Omar's bed. It sat just next to a small sphere, red on the top, and white beneath. The energetic shaking of the thing bumped the little pokeball, and it rolled slightly away. Eyes opened reluctantly, and he sat up slowly. Raking a hand loosely through his hair, he reached out with his other arm and closed his hand down over the still-ringing bells. The sudden quiet was both harsh and welcome. He looked around groggily, rubbing lightly at his face, and noticed the pokeball. "Gone back inside have you?" the boy muttered to himself. "I wonder when you did that. If it was too soon after I fell asleep, and I might have dreamed badly, I'll be angry with you." Then he shook his head. "But then again, I suppose you wouldn't hardly care. You never seem to, do you, my friend?" He looked at it with a frustrated fondness, such as one would give a particularly troublesome friend when they couldn't see. "Well, then, it's time to go. We've gone on living this comfortable life long enough. Now it's time to have some purpose. You'd like that wouldn't you?" The ball didn't move. "I mean it, I'm going to find her, if it's the last thing I do." He glared for a moment at it, then pulled himself up and began his preparations.

"First I'll need my trusty recorder, and some tapes. I will not forgo my practicing while I travel." So saying, Omar dug out his tape recorder, along with several blank tapes, and put them on his bed. Then he ransacked his closet, choosing clothes he felt were best for travel. Long, thick jeans and pants to ward keep his legs protected from the elements, a few shirts of various styles and arm-lengths, and a pair of jackets, one for cold and one for rain. These he added to the pile on his unmade bed. Next he got dressed, using different clothes than those already set out. After these basic necessities, there were only a few more things he needed that would be in his room. A few extra pokeballs, just in case. A sleeping bag and blanket for possible nights on the road. Flashlights, cell phone, and extra batteries. A large dark blue backpack to carry everything in. When he was satisfied with the things he'd gathered, Omar started stuffing things into his bag. It took a considerable amount of time to compress all the cloth so it would fit, but eventually he managed. The extra pokeballs he decided to put in his pockets. Once he had packed everything he thought was needed, he slung the bag over his shoulder and left the room.

Closing the door behind him, he walked slowly and silently down the stairs. Discovery now would be the worst of possible things to happen. His quest might end in failure before he even left his front door. But it was all quiet. Apparently even mothers slept in on weekends. He tiptoed quietly through to the kitchen, where he got what would be arguably the most important thing for his trip: food and water. No fancy foods for Omar; he didn't have room to bring a cooking pot, and he was no world-class chef either. When he could not buy food on his own, he would have to stick to dried ones. Energy and candy bars, nuts and dried fruits, bottled water; only these portable things he chose. They would last long as well. He brought only one metal plate for eating, just as a precaution. When his bag was full enough that he could barely zip it closed, he had to stop cramming things in. Even his pockets bulged with useful items. He had spent enough time preparing; now it was time to go. If he put it off now he would never leave.

Omar raked a hand through his unbrushed hair and sighed, eyes looking sadly around his house one last time. "Good-bye," he whispered to the room. "You have been a good home to me, but I must move on." He put his bag on his back and strode out the door, closing it behind him.

There, in the garage, his scooter. He considered whether or not he should take it. Omar didn't have enough money to take a train. True, he had a credit card his mother had given him, but it made his mouth twist sourly at the thought of free-loading off of her. And while he had some vague idea of being able to live off his abilities as a commentator, or even stretching that to be a speaker of any sort, that whole thing was a somewhat iffy proposition, and it was best to conserve what he had for an emergency. Yes, the scooter would serve him well. After all, it wouldn't take too long to get to the Lustre League, would it? Poor boy, so inexperienced in foot travel. So he took it, and while the morning dew had not yet burned into the air from the heat of the sun, he rode away from his house, not knowing when or if he would return.

As the sun continued to rise in the sky, Omar headed east, into its light. He was a lone silhouette on the sidewalk, gliding along on a scooter and pushing to add to his momentum every once in a while. So early in the morning, no one else was awake to bear witness to his leaving. It was a bit sad, really. And it made him feel lonely.

Gradually the city streets and houses gave way to more open spaces. First large suburban mansions, with great plots of empty lawn or sodden flower beds. Omar knew Sereih lived somewhere around here, but he wasn't sure of the exact address. Nor did he especially wish to speak with anyone now. Though he was lonely, he was used to it, had sought solitude much of his life. It was a comfortable loneliness; it didn't make him content, but it brought him peace enough. Adding someone else just now, someone he would have to share the sunrise with, would throw of the serenity of the moment with meaningless small talk as they both tried to connect to one another. No, he had no desire to seek out Sereih, even if he knew where to go. But as luck would have it, he passed by her house anyway. It was a large, pale blue wonder, looking to be fully four stories in height, and wider than it was tall. The lights in all of the windows were off and they themselves were closed, so Omar spared it no more than a glance.

But he was given more attention, albeit unknowingly. From one window on the third floor, grey eyes watched him closely, recognizing him. Sereih had taken to waking up this early in order to give her Pidgeotto a chance to have a morning flight and greet the sun as it awoke. Before she had done more than go to the window though, a figure passed by in the early morning light. On a scooter, and a familiar one at that. She had the undeniable feeling that she knew this person. It must be Omar, she guessed, because no one else she knew rode a scooter like that. Where was he going? There was nothing beyond her house of any importance to him, for she lived on the very outskirts of the city. The girl wracked her mind quickly and remembered something from the day before. After giving a lovely and flattering speech about her battle yesterday, Omar had stopped as if shot when someone had mentioned the Pokemon League. Had it stuck in his mind, and he was running off to the Lustre League? He was going in the right direction, so Sereih supposed it was possible. And he was just the kind of impulsive boy to do something like that on a whim even, if it were strong enough. Perhaps….Time would tell, she knew. For now she did not call out to him, but merely watched with blurring grey eyes as he moved out of her line of sight. Omar, what are you thinking? she wondered to herself.

Oblivious to the questions his presence had raised in someone, Omar rode on, leaving that pale blue house behind without a backward glance. He had no way of knowing what it would cause. Soon even the towering houses disappeared, leaving farmland in its wake. Golden fields of wheat were the predominant landscape now. Sometimes he saw some Miltank and Tauros too. They were contentedly grazing on green pastures, or laying down, asleep or awake. The Miltank were luckier than the Tauros. They would be used for their milk, and coddled for all of their lives, provided with food and shelter with only their milk given in exchange. Tauros though, could have two different fates. The lucky few who were chosen for breeding would live a life even cushier than the dairy cows, but only a small percentage would be given this gift. All the rest of them would be slaughtered and processed until they eventually emerged as slabs of beef that would be sent to hungry people all over the world. All in all, Omar thought he'd rather be a Miltank.

He was interrupted by a rut in the road, which had rudely pitched his scooter over, and himself off of it. Picking himself up and brushing off a bit of dust, Omar looked around him. The quality of the path was sharply deteriorating. It was still not much of a problem for walking, or perhaps for cars either. But a scooter's wheels were far smaller than a car's, and it would have more trouble. How long would the scooter be more help than hindrance? But you never knew when the road before you might level out again, smoothed by some thoughtful individual you would never know and could never thank. How sad unclaimed gratefulness is.

Now the road split into two roads. One went to the east, another northeast. He had to stop, because he wasn't quite sure which way to go. Forced to stop again, he had to consult a map that he had wisely chosen to bring. After puzzling over the confusing thing for about ten minutes, he was nearly run over by a large pickup truck, saved only by the honk that made him look up. Diving aside into the hard road and an only slightly less hard wooden fence, he barely managed to drag his scooter out of the way before the truck rushed by, honking angrily. This was the second time in as many days he'd nearly been run over, and Omar started to think that perhaps he'd been marked, or had somehow offended the world of drivers. Realistically though, he merely got himself into so much danger because he spaced out around them. Silly boy. He shrugged off such morbid and paranoid thoughts, and looked at the map for a minute more. Left was the way to go. Northeast towards the Lustre League headquarters.

His rich dark brown hair looked lighter than normal with the amount of dirt that had fallen into it. He didn't notice though, for about ten more minutes, continuing on until he saw a small dirt path leading to a park bench and decided to take a short break. He walked his scooter over there, since it was rather uneven. When he sat down, leaning forward, a light brown grit fell onto his lap. At first Omar thought it was coming from above, as there was a tree blessing the bench with its shade. But as blue eyes traveled upwards and head tilted back, more dirt slid down his face, crumbling and getting in his eyes. Cringing away, he flipped his head downward to shake the dirt out, and rubbed at his eyes vigorously. Once his eyes stopped tearing, the boy sat up again, raking a hand through his hair to prevent a repeat of the incident. It was gritty, and dirty, and stuck to his fingers, and it was all in his hair. The next few minutes were spent correcting that.

It took all the break time he had allotted himself, but finally his hair no longer shed particles of dust and grime when he moved his head. A major accomplishment. With that done, Omar picked himself up and moved back to the road. He rode on. For a great deal of time he was undisturbed, and the scenery gradually changed once more. Trees, before never there except for orchards, now began to dominate. Shaded from the sun that was growing higher in the sky, he continued unboiled by the heat, stopping occasionally to consult his map, and the route he had marked out on it. With a red highlighter he had gone over it before leaving, and now as he crossed major intersections, he marked them with blue, making a purple line of his chosen path in the end.

And in this manner Omar moved onwards through what was now a forest, still heading in a northeasterly direction. He didn't zone out very much now, though, and kept his eyes looking sharply at everything around him in turn. He spotted a few pokemon, but didn't go after any of them. He wasn't after becoming a pokemon master after all, nothing so cliché. Besides, most of them were underevolved bug pokemon. In fact, just about every pokemon he saw was a bug type. This forest must be popular with them, he thought absently after seeing his fifteenth Weedle waddling around. Most of them were staying off the path though, and that was relieving. It would take far too long if he had to battle every fifth pokemon he saw, and he'd miss the League entirely. Wouldn't that be awful? He sped up in his pace, rolling along on a layer of fallen pine needles from last year.

But alas, there are few places in the world you can simply pass through without trouble of some sort. Before he had any chance to react a green streak flew darted through the trees and crossed the path right in front of him. It moved so fast that he could barely make out that it was a Scyther before he crashed into it. With a thump boy, pokemon and scooter all went down onto the forest floor. Everything went still for just a breathless moment.

Omar picked himself up grumbling, and leaned back down to retrieve his scooter. A most lucky thing to do, as the blade whistling above his head, and cutting off a few ends of his hair proved a mere half-a-second later. It occurred to the boy that not only was he a recent target of cars, but his hair also seemed to be most extremely abused lately. Unfortunately, by the time this inopportune thought had finished, Scyther was attacking with another swipe, and he had to throw himself to the side to avoid it. Now there was dirt and pine needles in his hair that had been given an unnecessary cut. "What in the world did I do to you?" he gasped to himself as he rolled to evade another jab of the sharp scythes. "It was your own fault you ran in front of me." Another roll, and he slammed into a tree hard enough to lose his breath. Wheezing lightly, he reached in panic towards his belt. There, his pokemon. Normally never one to throw his pokemon into battle, in this emergency Omar didn't hesitate. He grasped the small sphere, and pressed the expanding button as he threw it wildly into the air.

The pokeball hit Scyther on the forehead, and fairly hard too, from such a close position. It skipped backwards, hissing, and the ball hit the ground. It opened in the customary flash of light, which also seemed to disorient Scyther in this dim forest light. When the pokemon blinked and cleared its sight though, it could still only see the boy that had run into it, who had picked himself up and was now crouching with his back against the tree that had halted his roll. No emerged protector could be seen, but the boy looked quite confident now. He smiled, and it was not the sort of smile to make you feel warm and fuzzy inside. It was cold, and a little cruel, more of a smirk perhaps. Could the brat's pokemon be so fast that it was in hiding already? Scyther looked all around it, seeking an enemy. But there was none to be seen. And yet the boy looked not in the least bit scared now. Angry and cocky, but no fear. Whoever his partner was, he must trust it would easily dispose of the bladed bug. Well, that wasn't going to happen. Not if Scyther had anything to say about it.


	5. Chapter 4

Chance Meeting

Scyther looked all around, searching for its opponent. The sun was setting through the trees, blocking one direction of sight quite firmly. Unless blindness was an acceptable option. The pokemon thought that unwise, shifting its head away from the westerly direction. Purple blind spots danced in its eyes all the same, and in the dim light it was difficult to see. As vision returned slowly, Scyther paused, beady black eyes darting from corner to corner of the forest. Scraggly underbrush surrounded the entire area. It could easily hide anything, but it was also dry enough that it would make crashing sounds if anyone tried. Trees, mostly pines and other evergreens, but here was an oak. And in front of it the boy. The boy who had been in the way, and knocked the bug over. A smug little smirk tugged at the corners of the human's mouth, cocky enough for a Pinsir. Dark hair covered his deep blue eyes messily, yet Scyther could read them well enough. They were familiar. The eyes of a vengeful hunter who could not lose. Hah! Nothing to fear? Not so long as this pokemon held its steel. With still no sign of the boy's missing pokemon, Scyther set itself grimly, ready to charge the offender. As it bent its legs though, preparing to spring, the boy opened his mouth, and uttered something softly. A command? Quickly Scyther shifted gears, searching again for an attack from any direction. Neither sight nor sound nor smell of an enemy was there that it could find though, so the pokemon turned back to the boy. And reeled.

From out of nowhere, a deep bass gong rang out, seemingly right next to Scyther's head. It was loud enough to disorient the pokemon, and it staggered even as the sound began to fade away, screwing eyes shut and trying to do the same with ears. This time the pulsing spots that flitted around when the pokemon opened its eyes again were red. In fact, the entire area seemed to have taken on a reddish tinge, flooded with the last rays of sunlight. And there was the beginnings of a fog, or maybe a mist. It was hard to tell in this light. As the sound of the gong receded, a new one began to swell, taking its place, but much more slowly. A low chant, nearly as low as the preceding ringing, started just at the edge of hearing. Arcane, and indecipherable, it was. One precipitously high note held in an invisible singer's voice, while the rest went on to repeat themselves. That note faded in and out, on average growing stronger every minute though. The red trees, they pulsed too, in time to the mystic sounds, and the color drew in on itself as well, throbbing into the droplets hanging in the air, until the rest of the area were as they had been, without red, and concentrated blood-red mist surrounded Scyther, still beating, almost menacingly to the chanting. The highest note began to trill, quavering unsteadily, and the mist followed, shivering in dusk light, giving off more light than the air, and flooding slowly inward. Slowly, slowly, a shape formed, a diffuse ring of crimson surrounding the wary bug pokemon. An air of spinning laid about the ring, keeping rhythm with the chant, which had finally relinquished its highest note. Perhaps the singer had run out of breath, wherever he was located. In the mean time, the main melody-if it could be called that-continued its swell, growing stronger by the second. The ring drew in too, concentrating until pinpoints where the glowing color was far brighter than elsewhere were easily distinguishable. They made patterns surrounding Scyther, some unholy runes from long ago. The chanting words seemed each to tie into one symbol, resonating positively with itself. And so the song circled round its target just as the red mist did, all the while contracting inwards, an inexorable net. Instinctively the bug shrank back from the light, trying to duck under it and escape, but before it could more than bend knee, there were suddenly two rings where before existed only one, at angles from one another, writhing up and down even as the arcane symbols spun 'round. They closed in rapidly, till there was not any room to move without touching it, chant pounding in Scyther's ears. Pulse, expand outward, and the edges of the rings touched green exoskeleton. The gong struck again. Pain. It laced up the pokemon's limbs, a blinding fire of the nervous system, shutting out everything in an excruciating moment. Scyther's eyes squeezed shut, but it felt rather than saw more red, pulled out of itself to join the mist. No lines appeared, of more crimson running down to stain the green, nor was the source any one spot, but that red had been reinforced anyway from all over the body, to pulse more strongly than before.

Strangely enough, the mist seemed to withdraw a bit, giving the bug room to stagger a bit and replant unsteady feet. It was either that or fall. As another round of red spots receded from the black eyes squinting in the eerie light, Scyther could finally see again. The first thing to meet its gaze was the boy. There was no bestial grin or feral snarl painting his face, merely a smug little smirk, and a wrinkle in his brow beneath the mess of hair, of impatience? The brat was impatient that the pokemon was wasting so much of his time? The impunity! And he wasn't even paying attention now, to his weak and incapacitated opponent. A very different kind of red filled Scyther's gaze, and it unconsciously flexed the blades on the end of each arm. How dare he? Without pause, the bug flung itself forward, crashing through the misty barrier that had snapped back in. More searing pain engulfed it, but momentum kept it going. Straight towards the boy, scythes outstretched.

Omar watching the pokemon impassively. Of course, he could not see the full effects, and had always wondered what exactly it was that the victim felt from the curse. Not quite strongly enough to turn it on himself experimentally, though. Still, it was worth noting the reaction, absorbing it fully to himself and distilling the raw feeling to words that would wretch to any soul. Hopefully, anyway. The flinch away from initial contact was superb, a study of carnal fear; a cornered creature. A smile came unbidden as he concentrated on the mood, confident he'd found something good to remember. But now that he had everything necessary, Omar tapped his foot slightly, anxious to be onward. He needed to find a place to stay for the night, far away enough from Scyther that it would not chase him if and when it revived. He did not relish another encounter, especially if he got taken by surprise. A Scyther's eyes weren't legendary for night vision, yet they were most likely still better than his. Certainly it was faster and stealthier. Could he count on his pokemon to keep watch? After all this exertion it might decide to shirk its duties again, just like last night. Lazy bum. In any case, the pokemon ought to be on its last legs by now, and good riddance. Daylight was slipping away. Just on the brink of looking up to check, the boy heard a thumping, and blinked his deep blue eyes, almost black in this light. Maybe that was the bug falling right now. Blowing hair out of his face he looked up, and stumbled backwards, eyes wide as they would go, mouth opened in horror. Tripping on the roots of the tree behind him, Omar fell hard against the bark, and it scraped off the skin of his hands and neck. His timing narrowly delayed decapitation. "Night Shade!" he yelled out in a shrill, high voice, barely able to think of calling protection. Scyther drew itself up, one blade like a headsman's axe, and was swiftly enveloped in a binding darkness. It roiled as the pokemon struggled to break free, here an arm flailing about but always soon engulfed once more. It pulsed, and hummed, like a living creature, and a hungry one at that. It ifed./i Perhaps it would consume the pokemon in its entirety. Omar used the chance to scramble back away on his back, then hurriedly get to his feet a safe distance away. Scyther had broken free once, and he didn't want to take the chance twice. Although the struggles seemed to be getting weaker, since the area of darkness no longer bulged at the seams. The irregular movements slowed too, so maybe it was finally finished. Omar didn't care. He was panting heavily, and trying to remove leaves and pine needles from his hair. So long as the thing finally left him alone, before he had a heart attack many years too young, he didn't care whether it died or fled.

"STOP!" The cry rang out from the silent trees, shattering the quiet. It was only then Omar realized exactly how quiet the whole affair had been. Even the wild flailings of Scyther had made nearly no sound. Drawn like a magnet, his gaze swiveled to a figure crashing through the trees. A boy, perhaps a year older than himself, or merely very tall for his age. He jumped over a bush as if it were a hurdle, and continued running forward without breaking stride. Fumbling at a bag swinging wildly across his back, he seemed to be looking for something. All the while he kept shouting to cease and desist the horrible torture of an innocent pokemon, or something like that. It was a little hard to make out individual words. Nevertheless, by the time he'd closed half the distance between his starting shout and his target, he managed to pull something out of the bag without strewing the rest of the contents in a long line across the forest. It was small, neatly concealed in his hand, but as Omar watched, nonplussed and a little too shocked to do anything, it expanded to a spherical shape about the size of his hand. A pokeball. With a cut-off yell Omar stagger back further; he had no more intentions of grappling with pokemon himself any longer today. But the brilliant line of red light yielded no new opponent for him to face. Instead, it whished across the forest, weaving through trees to pierce the pulsing darkness, which promptly dissipated. Scyther appeared momentarily, shocked beyond reason and panting more heavily than either human, before it turned red, glowed, and disappeared, back down the line of fire, leaving sparkling motes in the air that had been more. The boy finally skidded to a halt in front of the other, grabbing a tree trunk to keep from overshooting, or falling flat on his face.

Omar blinked and shut his eyes, night vision ruined by the dazzling light. He concentrated on regaining it now, for it was well and truly night. While still rubbing at his head, he heard another shout, much nearer, and loud enough to make him wince. "What do you think you're doing to my pokemon?" Deciding there was no hope for his eyes for a while, Omar dug in his bag for a flashlight, very nearly dislodging the metal plate among his things. Turning it on, he swung about, pointing it in the face of the newcomer. Let him blink in the sudden light. The beam revealed a boy, as he'd thought, with close-cut coppery hair, brushing out from underneath his gray baseball cap. His eyes were a pale color, washy-looking, and too close to tell whether they were green or blue, but either worked. A dozen or so freckles brushed the boy's inner cheeks, looking out of place on the lanky face, blinking unsteadily in the bright light. One awkward hand came up to shield his eyes, blocking out a small nose. It was too dark to see his other clothing clearly, except that he wore unremarkable shirt and pants. Despite the extra near-foot of height he had, it was not a very imposing presence. Omar nearly laughed. He was no longer afraid at all, and the extra adrenaline from two close encounters with death in quick succession made him want to throw back his head and laugh that he was still alive. He managed to quash the giddy euphoria though, and turn a stern face towards his companion. Not that he could probably see it anyway.

"What I have done is defended myself against something that tried to slice my head off. And what kind of a trainer are you, letting your pokemon run that far away from you? I'm holding you responsible." The older boy blinked uncertainly; he had been nowhere to see what had happened. He must know his own pokemon's psychotic ways, and those washed-out eyes confirmed it as they began filling with doubt. The nerve to accuse Omar like that. But that was a trainer's way, always supporting their pokemon even against reason. He could not be expected to do anything else. "As for your menace's condition, you need not worry. The Curse did not take full enough effect to do lasting damage." He spoke crisply and coldly, like a banker he had heard when following his mother to deposit money once.

The boy started and scrubbed at his face once more, blinking against the light. "Curse?" he asked, eyes going wide, "You some kind of witch or something?" He looked rather afraid given the ridiculous question. Omar blinked once in surprise. Then he did begin to laugh, nearly doubling over, and dropping the beam of light. His ribs shook so that they nearly pained him, and still he laughed, on and on. The other boy, trying to see, stumbled forward a pace and stared approximately in his direction. Did this mean he was a witch, and surprised at being found out? Was he going to kill him? Frowning worriedly, he flinched back as the light swung back into his eyes, and beyond, to point at the branches of one of the trees.

"Come out, lazy bones!" the younger boy called, barely able to speak for the gales of laughter that still swarmed within him. The flashlight wobbled exaggeratedly on the tree; he steadied it with his other hand. In the pale circle of light, something moved, though you could not really say what. Just a shifting of the empty darkness, at the most. But it coalesced into something more, a darkness that the flashlight could not pierce, or even lessen. It kept vague and irregular shape, shifting as it glided downwards in the beam, obedient to its call. He shook, for all that the thing did not directly approach him. The boy who'd assaulted his pokemon was a witch, and he commanded the shades to descend and take care of him too! What had he gotten into? He could not take his eyes off the shadow. Suddenly, when it was right above his head, he realized that it had stopped, and two lighter spots of the darkness seemed to be facing him. They looked disconcertingly like eyes, glowing dimly and staring hungrily at him. He quivered. He was going to be cursed just like poor Scyther, and there was no one there to rescue him. He never even thought of pokemon. How could they defend against vengeful ghosts and a witch-boy to strengthen them? In his fear-ramblings the boy barely noticed the shadow growing even heavier, and taking on a defined shape. Large hands seemed to form and reach out with sharp claws towards him. He cowered. A cackling began, shrill and keening, carrying a full load of insanity. Those eye shapes seemed to glow even more, red and bloody. And the shadow became no longer black, but now a deepest purple color. It stopped expanding, in a recognizable shape. A Haunter, cackling its head off, as if it had more than head and hands. Just like its master below it. The beam of light shook more and more along with him. He felt embarrassed, and felt his cheeks flush. Not just a ghost, but a ghost pokemon! It was still an uneasy thing, but at least more acceptable. Scrambling up to his full height-the boy had been cringing down-he met with more howling laughter, ears brighter red than his hair. He stood with as much dignity as he could manage, and waited for it to end, doing his best to glare. It took some long minutes before the peals finally died down, but when they did, the witch-boy straightened, and his pokemon floated down to rest on his shoulder. They both still grinned at him though. It was the master that spoke. "Ah, you are a funny guy…" he said weakly, wiping a mirthful tear from his eye. "Just that is more than worth being assaulted. My name is Omar."

He nodded nervously, being as polite as possible. "My name is Arrion, Omar. Are you really sure you're not a witch?" He darted a quick look at the pokemon half-obscured by dark messy hair. It only produced more hooting laughter though, and Arrion flinched from it distastefully. "Anyway," he went on, eager to avoid any more ridicule-boys have their pride after all-"I'm sorry if my Scyther attacked you. It's got a big temper…" his mouth twisted sourly. No response, the two were still laughing, apparently not even hearing him. "What are you doing out here, anyway, Omar? This is kinda deep in the woods" Not some deep arcane witch ritual of sacrifice, he hoped.

It made them stop laughing though, or Omar at least. He looked up, a twinkle still in his eye, but did not laugh again. "It's actually not that far from the road," he responded lightly. "I was traveling along it-I'm going to the Lustre League-when I got interrupted by a battle. Though I did expect it to be with a wild pokemon, not a half-wild trained one. In any case, you seem familiar enough with this area not to trip over your feet. Do you happen to know a good campsite for the night?" He eyed Arrion with those deep blue eyes, like glittering sapphires, and just as hard as a stone as well. They were serious now.

Lustre League? The very same? Was he going to hex it somehow? No matter how many times he laughed it off, Omar had never said plainly that he was not a witch. A superstitious person, Arrion felt rather uneasy around him. "Well, yeah, I guess. There's a good enough place a bit to the north. Y'know, I'm going to the Lustre League too. Maybe we could go together? I promise my Scyther won't make trouble…." After some consideration, Omar nodded.

So saying, the two returned to the road first to retrieve Omar's scooter, before making their way through to the campsite. It was fairly good, with shelter from the wind in the thick trees and underbrush, though a little hard to get into the circle of plants. The boys spread out their sleeping bags within the hollow. It was a little uncomfortable for Arrion, still afraid Omar was a witch, but they managed to make it through the night with no other incidents. In the morning they ate a feast of energy bars and chocolate-Arrion seemed able to cook, and even had his own pans, but claimed to be no good at breakfast-and packed up and found the path before the sun got very high. Omar got a call from his mother, calling to make sure he was okay and discuss other details of his leaving. They talked while walking his scooter on the path. Eventually he managed to convince her that he was neither crazy nor merely irresponsible, nor was he running from some kind of trouble. She wanted to talk more then, but he managed to get her to get off the phone by claiming low batteries. So passed two weeks in the wood, and on the subsequent road. The biggest issue was trying to convince Arrion that he was not actually a witch; the boy didn't ever seem to believe it. Because of that, he didn't manage to learn much about his companion beyond a great deal of superstition. They managed to get work at one farm passed, helping out with labor. It got them a hot meal, a bed, and some non-processed food to take with them. Other than that they saw little if any signs of humanity.

Finally, walking tiredly, with a great deal of food gone, Omar and Arrion finally reached the town Lustre, named for the pokemon league it hosted. It was a small town, and a little empty. With about a week left before the league preliminaries began, most people hadn't arrived quite yet. The buildings were predominantly hotels and restaurants, with a decent sprinkling of tourist stands. The two walked up the streets, towards the large anterior building in front of the stadium arena. Only one person was out and about so far this morning. Was it too early for those that did live here? The figure, changed to a shadow by the rising sun, turned towards them, and then started walking forward. Squinting ahead, Omar tried to make out who it was, or at least whether they were male or female. When he finally recognized her though, his jaw dropped. "Sereih?" Omar asked incredulously, nearly in a whisper.

"Who's that?" Arrion asked curiously, tilting his head to the side.


End file.
